


Steve Rogers is Dead, Long Live Captain America

by Itgoeson



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Acceptance, Ambiguous Relationships, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Steve and Bucky are and were a couple, compliments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 10:12:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18848956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itgoeson/pseuds/Itgoeson
Summary: People keep telling Steve Rogers that Bucky Barnes is dead, that the Winter Soldier is not him. That doesn't mean that Steve's best friend is dead, though, or that he doesn't appreciate who Bucky is now.OR: Bucky is the Winter Soldier is Bucky. Steve can't help but admire who he's become. Bucky feels the same.





	Steve Rogers is Dead, Long Live Captain America

I

“He’s not the man you knew.”

Steve clenches his jaw. The muscles ticks under the skin. Bucky — maybe, it’s a name, it’s what Steve calls him, it’s what he’ll be called — watches quietly. They do not appear to know he’s there. He’s not sure this is a comfort. There are three bugs in the Captain’s apartment currently. Steve has found at least two. He’d crushed the last round, scouted the whole place, had barely slept the next few days. 

Bucky had sat on his couch after a week of this paranoia until Steve came back from a run. Steve’s expression hadn’t shifted from a pleased grin as Bucky had gruffly told him to stop destroying the listening devices. They were expensive and, it went without saying, annoying to steal. Steve had laughed softly. “Buck,” he’d said, “you’re gonna have to let me know which ones are yours, then, and which ones aren’t.”

He had complied, and Steve had stopped destroying them. Bucky slowly adjusted his earpiece to hear better and adjusted his scope to give him a good line of sight without catching on the sunlight.

“Everyone keeps telling me that,” Steve grumbles, instead of the polite smile he’d given Fury, the annoyed glance he’d given Stark, the defiant “so?” he’d given Wilson. He just stares into the middle distance as Natasha Romanov stares at him.

“Because we’re right,” she says. She sounds annoyed, but takes a sip of the coffee Steve had made her anyway. Bucky wonders how much of it is an act and how much of it is honest.

“Because you think I don’t know that. Because you all think I want to be back in World War goddamned Two, half-starved and so covered in mud the grit was always in my teeth. Because you think I want that Bucky back, the one who almost lost his mind on a table and hated killing people so much he wanted to kill himself.” Steve’s jaw is still tense, his back ramrod straight. He looks as though he’ll reach for his shield at any moment, except they’re in Steve’s apartment and he’s unarmed. 

Romanov tilts her head. “If you know he’s not Bucky then bring him in. He’s dangerous.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t Bucky.” Romanov doesn’t reply, just stares him down. Steve remains silent — perhaps considering what to say. He knows Bucky is likely listening, though Romanov will not. But he continues after a tense silence. “There’s no one Bucky could have turned into that I wouldn’t protect. There’s no version of him that isn’t my best friend. So, you gotta do what you need to, fine. Find him, try to take him in, walk away from all of this, it’s okay. But this is where I’m going to be.” He spreads his hands, indicating  _ here, _ indicating  _ with Bucky, with an assassin that’s more monster than man, with my pride and him. _

Romanov walks out without another word. 

Bucky doesn’t bother to track her through the scope, just watches as Steve sits heavily on the couch. He tilts his head up at the ceiling and breathes deeply. Finally, he clears his throat. “Buck, if you heard any of that … I meant it. I’m gonna go take a walk now, get some space to clear my head.”

The Winter Soldier does not move from his perch for several minutes after Steve leaves, giving him the privacy he’d prefer. Instead of following, he breaks into the apartment and drinks Steve’s cup of still-warm coffee and thinks about what he’d said. 

Not having to be Bucky Barnes. He hadn’t thought Steve could survive that.

Maybe he’d underestimated the man.

 

II

Romanov shows up with Barton four days later, holding hot chocolate mix and groceries. “We’re making dinner,” she says. Barton, behind her, nods, holding the bulk of the bags. “Eating out is too expensive.”

Steve snorts but lets them in. “Clint?” he asks, a little surprised. 

Barton rolls his shoulders and makes his way to the kitchen. “Just got back from a mission. Nat said you needed food and your most normal friend.”

“I did not,” Romanov says, just as Steve interjects with “normal?”

“What,” Barton says, “I didn’t grow up to be a supersolder!”

“You’re worse,” Steve says, “you keep up with supersoldiers without any extra help.”

Barton smiles goofily. It pulls up one corner of his mouth farther than the other even as he ducks his head and rounds his shoulders. “Well, someone’s gotta. Now, where are your seasonings?”

Steve stares at them a little helplessly as Barton and Romanov start dicing peppers and heating oil in a skillet. He shuffles into the living room, shouting that he’ll just put on some music. As he fiddles with the stereo he clears his throat. Bucky wonders if he knows that he does that when he’s about to talk directly to him. He suspects the answer is yes.

“Be nice if you were here, Buck. I don’t even know what kinds of food you like in the future. I’ll save some leftovers, though.”

He’s interrupted from saying more by a squeak from Barton, who’s just spilled sauce all over his shirt. Steve rolls his eyes at him and gives him a new one. “How are you like this?” Romanov asks.

“We can’t all be Steve’s  _ graceful, lethal, deadly assassin who one time killed three men in a crowded restaurant with just a glass of wine and a pencil sharpener, _ ” he says, except his voice goes high-pitched and mushy when he says it, like he’s quoting Steve. Like Steve’s been waxing poetic about Bucky’s crimes.

“It was creative!” Steve shoots back, defensive. Romanov tilts her head toward Steve, taking his side.

That night, Bucky creeps in after Barton and Romanov have left and Steve is asleep. He eats all of the leftovers, even the ones that don’t have a sarcastic note with “jerk” scrawled on them. He adds a few of the things he’d especially liked to the grocery list Steve keeps pinned to his fridge, taking care to make it look enough like Steve’s writing to hold up to a quick glance.

 

III

Bucky makes himself into a factory worker when he’s got to go in public these days. Sturdy clothes, not the fastest thinker, heavy hands but an easy smile. It’s tired, but so is he. The man’s got steady steps, loud enough most people hear him coming. He calls him Johnson, Stanley Johnson, a little backwater but well-meaning. 

Loud enough for Wilson to hear him coming just before ducking into a coffee shop. He waits for Bucky to join him, holding open the door and smirking when Bucky dips his head in thanks and stands beside him in line.

“Good to see you joining us at the VA, finally,” he says. Bucky’s done no such thing, but Johnson would. 

He shrugs. “About time, I reckon.”

Wilson shoots him a considering look. “Maybe, man. Let me get you a drink. What’re you having?”

He orders the most sugary thing on the menu and ambles off to find a table, leaving Wilson to wait on their drinks. It takes a couple minutes, but Wilson joins him, grinning. “Didn’t figure you drank anything but black coffee and bleach.”

Bucky stares at him blankly, feigning confusion, until WIlson breaks, tapping at Bucky’s cup. “Well, go on then. Drink that. What can I help you with?”

“Would you help me if I asked?” he asks, cocking his head.

“Maybe. Probably not, but maybe.”

Bucky liked that answer. Johnson liked it even more, and cracked a smile, letting out a rusty laugh. It sounded like he smoked three packs a day, not that he just hadn’t laughed in a while. “You working with Steve?”

“Mostly I just run with him. Sometimes, though, sure.”

He nods slowly. “That’s good. He needs someone on his six.”

“He’s got Nat for that,” Wilson tells him pointedly.

“Romanov isn’t ranged. Not the same.”

Wilson sits back, smiling earnestly. “Can’t believe I’ve got James Buchanan Barnes’ seal of approval. What’s Cap gonna say when he hears I’m good enough for him?”

Bucky doesn’t mean for his eyes to go sharp at that, but his face pulls into something like judgement anyway. It takes a second to ease it back into the easy charm of Johnson again. “Probably that he’s made a mistake, then, Wilson.”

“Right. You know, Steve warned me you were an asshole. He just said it in the same breath as how smart you were and how,” he raised his voice three octaves, not even trying to imitate Steve, “Buck’s so good at lying now, he can be anyone, Sam, have you seen him impersonate the butcher’s niece’s brother-in-law?” He bats his eyelashes at Bucky to complete his charade before sitting back. “I get why he’s so dead-set on keeping you around, now.”

Bucky doesn’t know how to respond to that. The words sound insulting. But it feels … some way. He feels about it. “He talks about me?”

“ _ Constantly _ ,” Wilson says with feeling, launching into a story about how Steve had been talking about him — the new him, the Winter Soldier — while they’d been on a mission last week. Wilson doesn’t say they’re recent stories outright. He keeps it vague, since they’re in public, but the details only match up if he’d been talking about both of them, about him now and then. It’s nice. They stay well after the sun sets, until the baristas start throwing them dirty looks.

It’s not exactly a routine after that, but. Every now and then, Bucky will amble up behind Wilson as he walks home from a group session at the VA, and they’ll talk while Bucky works his way through the shop’s menu and Wilson gives him shit for it.

 

IV

Steve should’ve done ballet, should’ve done gymnastics, should’ve been anything that is something other than killing, probably. But killing’s what he got good at, and Bucky likes it. He appreciates the art that Steve makes out of it, if he’s gotta. 

It’s not like Steve goes on missions all the time. It’s been months since the last attack, the last Hydra base, the last anything that required the shield. Bucky can’t tell if Steve’s missed it. 

He does know, though, that Steve is covered in blood and grime, a thick layer of ashy ceiling plaster. There are things that used to be human circling him. Sam — Wilson — is strafing them on the other side of the compound. They were nearest, the first two to respond to the alert. The military will probably arrive next, or S.H.I.E.L.D. Until then, Steve and Sam are just holding the almost-werewolves’ attention, trying to keep them off the crowded streets and away from civilians.

Bucky approves of the strategy. It’s very … Steve.

Steve had chased him for months, after the helicarriers, after the Potomac. Had chased him until he’d found him one day, and with him came a S.H.I.E.L.D. strike team. He and Steve had run, had hidden, had ditched all their tails and Wilson, too. And then they’d paused, huddled in an alley, a dead end with graffiti in the shape of, of all things, an Iron Man suit. Steve had laughed tiredly when he’d seen it, laughed without really smiling. He’d turned to Bucky, and it looked like his face was all lines, like Atlas carrying his world on a shield. “Buck, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t … I’ll go.” Bucky had just stared at him, unsure of what was happening, unsure of most things except that he needed more time away, alone. “Okay. I live in D.C. right now. But you, uh, probably knew that. But if you need anything, find me.” He put a hand up, like he was about to grasp his shoulder, and thinks better of it. “I’ll go. I probably have a tracker in me. Plus I’m a little more noticeable.” He did that thing again, the laugh-without-a-smile, and darted off into the crowd. 

Always drawing the attention away from other people, from Bucky. Always a step ahead and a step apart from everyone else.

Steve shouts, a directive to Sam, because they’re almost overrun, and Bucky blinks out of the memory.

Well, he’d always stolen the attention to give Bucky room to work. Just because Steve doesn’t know he’s here doesn’t mean that the same strategy doesn’t still work. 

He lines up a shot, hitting a wolf snapping at Steve’s heels, then another, and another. It gives Steve enough space to bring his shield around, jamming the rim into another wolf’s throat, wrenching it away smoothly to bash the skull of another, and just like that, he’s not overwhelmed by the things again. 

A few heartbeats pass as Steve continues to throw his weight around, methodically killing and incapacitating the failed science experiments, face locked in a snarling frown. Bucky takes the moment to appreciate the view. He’s only got a few more minutes until leaving undetected isn’t an option. 

He takes the opportunity to kill a few more werewolves before packing up and fading back into the treeline, legging it back to Steve’s apartment in just under an hour.

It’s good time for him, although Steve rode in on his bike. Even with the hassle of dealing with whatever organization showed up to wrangle the scene, Steve will get back soon. Bucky doesn’t even have to think before jumping into his shower.

True to form, Steve’s back, leaning against the bathroom door, when Bucky shuts off the water and towels off. He blinks at him, nods, and starts to pull his clothes back on.

“If you want,” Steve says, then clears his throat, like he hadn’t meant to talk at all. He continues anyway, though. “I’ve got clean clothes. You can take whatever you need.” And he smiles, just a little, just a small grin. “Socks and underwear at least.”

That does sound … less disgusting than what he’d been planning. He nods, then raises his eyebrows when Steve just stays there, staring at him. 

“Right. Right,” he says, turning around and grabbing a pile of socks and underwear. Bucky takes them, giving his own small grin in return. It probably comes off as mocking, but it’s what Steve deserves.

Steve takes off his gloves and shoes while Bucky gets dressed. He’s moving slow, sore and cumbersome after the fight, it looks like. If Bucky takes longer getting dressed to keep an eye on him, Steve won’t call him on it.

He’s about to leave, because as tired as Steve is, he’s still fine, when Steve speaks again. 

“Thanks for the backup.”

Bucky freezes. “I killed dogs.”

Steve shrugs. “That used to be people. And you were there. Thanks.”

 

V

“He’s not the man you knew,” Sam says over a cup of coffee. It’s a VA day, which means Bucky’s trailed him. Mostly, he’s himself today, although he did take up Johnson’s heavy walk and easy smile to pass as not-an-international-assassin. 

Bucky wonders what it is with people telling him things he already knows, telling Steve things he already knows.

The thing is, Bucky knows he’s not the same person he used to be. It goes beyond knowing that he’s changed. Everyone changes. Bucky’s been replaced, outfitted with a new personhood, not just a new arm. 

But if he’s not the same person he’s always been, neither is Steve.

“He’s not the man America knew, no,” Bucky answers, because it’s true without being honest.

It seems to please Sam though. He laughs. “Yeah, Steve’s an asshole, huh?”

“The worst kind,” Bucky answers. “But. I know him. The way he knows me. I know he’s an asshole. He starts fights he can’t finish. He cares about people more than the big picture. He doesn’t care about excuses, even good ones.”

He lines up Steve’s faults in a row.  _ Here is where he’s weak. Here’s where I fell in love with him. _ He hopes Sam doesn’t realize. He doesn’t think he will. Straight people rarely see farther than they have to, with these things.

Bucky takes a measured breath. “Steve isn’t the man anyone knew. He died and became a supersoldier, and then he died again and became a legend. No one comes back from that.”

That seems to catch Sam off guard. He looks sad, like Bucky’s told him something he knew but tried his best to ignore. Maybe he did. 

“Steve always said you were better with people than he was. I didn’t know that was still true.”

Here’s what Bucky knows about Sam: he’s good at manipulation. He sees every line of a conversation three steps ahead. He doesn’t pull his punches. He knows better than Steve when to quit, but he ignores it anyway and keeps going. He’s a good friend to Steve Rogers, a good man.

Bucky gives him a ghost of a smile. “He always liked talking me up.”

“You’re remembering a lot these days?”

“Not everything. But enough.” Enough to know he is the Winter Soldier, and to know that the Winter Soldier is no longer Bucky Barnes. Enough to know that he, selfishly, likes Captain America more than Steve Rogers, now that he is the Winter Soldier, who is incapable of the kind of delicacy and empathy that came so naturally to Bucky Barnes.

Sam nods, eyes distant. “Enough to make you know how much Steve has changed.”

Every conversation is circular, these days. “Steve’s dead. Long live Captain America.”

Bucky gets up and leaves.

 

+1

There are books in Russian, in French, in Italian on Steve’s shelf. Two in German. Bucky appreciates the variety. Sometimes, he gets so tired of English, its tediousness, its chaos.

He tells Steve as much when he walks in from his morning run.

It makes Steve duck his head, the muscles on his face relaxing, almost a smile. The closest he gets to a smile most of the time, these days. 

“Didn’t know you’d be here. Sam said you walked off, last time you talked.”

“So you’re spying on me now, Rogers?”

“Thought it was mutual.” Steve flops down on his couch and tilts his head to watch Bucky as he continues to look over the books on his shelf.

Bucky stares at a book on anatomy, labeled in Cyrillic. “A while back. With those dogs. You said they were people.”

“Yeah.”

Next door, a sink cuts on, off. Someone shuts a door. Bucky keeps looking at the book. “I didn’t think twice about killing them.”

“Neither did I.”

“You don’t mind that?”

Steve sighs. “Buck. I don’t think we’ve been good people in a long time. I don’t think … I don’t think you can kill people and be a good person. But we’re still right to do what we do. We were right to have done what we did.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d say something like that.”

He gets up to stand next to Bucky, shoulder-to-shoulder. “Because we know each other, asshole. A coupla deaths can’t change that.”

“Your deaths, or mine?”

Steve shrugs. “We’ve both died twice, by my count. We match.”

The tables, the experiments. The freezes, and ice. They match in so many ways. More ways than they don’t. Bucky looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “People keep telling us that we’re not the same, anymore.” He waits a beat. “I know it’s true, because they keep telling me you’ve been complimenting me behind my back.”

He laughs, shoulders finally loose, lips finally tilting up. “Always been complimenting you behind your back, pal. I’m just big enough to take you in a fight if you decide to do something about it.”

Bucky snorts and knocks their shoulders together. “Someday, we should fuck off somewhere. Retire and live somewhere warm. Greece would be nice. No one would know us there.” A thought zings through his mind. “Or you could be Captain Greece.”

“So just fifteen-year-old me, then?”

“Exactly.”

Steve curls his hand over the nape of Bucky’s neck. “You sticking around until then?”

“I just might, this time. Unless a government comes after me.”

“There are aliens now, Buck. If any government comes after you past what we can handle, we can just fuck off to a warm planet for an early retirement. No Captain Greece needed.”

**Author's Note:**

> But Raven, you're saying, there were movies after The Winter Soldier in the MCU other than Black Panther and Thor: Ragnarok. But honestly, dear reader, were there? I wasn't aware. I don't recall. I simply cannot fathom them. But I hope you enjoyed those movies! Hypothetically, of course. If they existed.


End file.
